


Sub Specie Aeternitatis

by Dispatches (orphan_account)



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Community: choc_fic, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-10
Updated: 2010-05-10
Packaged: 2017-10-09 09:39:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/85805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Dispatches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the first choc_fic challenge. Prompt #16. 'Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, Benjamin Sisko and Kasidy Yates: carrying a torch, love of her life - "and I would give up forever just to have you here"'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sub Specie Aeternitatis

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from the philosophy of Baruch Spinoza and literally means "under the eye of eternity".

He wasn't dead, and that was the only reason she was able to stay on her feet all the way back to their quarters, to put off the collapse until she was behind a locked door and inches away from the bed they had shared.

He wasn't dead. She told herself that, recited the words over and over again: _he's not dead, he's not dead, he's not dead, he's not dead..._

Because he wasn't dead. Just... gone.

*

_How long must I stay here?_

_You know better than to ask that question. Here is not linear._

_I know that. What I don't know is whether my child will have been born by the time I get back._

_Your child has already been born. Your child is alive and well. Your child is a hundred years dead. Your child is not yet conceived. All these things are so, were so, will be so. You know this._

_Yeah. Doesn't mean I have to like it._

*

The day after he left, Kasidy stayed in their quarters from rising to sleeping, going through the things he had left behind: civilian clothes she seldom saw him wear, cooking tools she'd never been able to use, artwork she'd only understood because he had explained it to her. She didn't know what to do with any of it -- he wasn't dead, and he was coming back; the only question was _when_ \-- so when the computer woke her with a soft chirp the next morning, and she found herself staring blearily at a room cluttered with things indelibly marked as Ben's, all she could do was put them away in their old places as if he were coming back the next day.

The next day, he was still gone, and she had an appointment with Dr Bashir. "Everything's absolutely fine," he said after he'd scanned her and asked a few questions. "That is, physically fine. I... don't suppose you've spoken to Ezri?"

Kasidy leaned back against the examination table, taking the weight off her feet. "No, and I'm not going to. Not like that, anyway."

"Oh, please don't take it the wrong way -- I don't mean to imply that there's anything wrong, it's just -- " He sighed and put down his datapad. "Captain Sisko's gone, and there's no way of knowing if he'll come back -- "

"_When_ he'll come back," she interrupted.

He nodded, abashed. "As you say." He paused, seeming to consider his words. "Kasidy, the Captain and I weren't particularly close, but I served under him for seven years, and the thought of him not being here -- it's almost impossible to believe. I can't even imagine what you must be going through -- "

"I'm not 'going through' anything!" she snapped. "He's coming back. We've been separated before -- lots of times. This is no different."

"Are you sure?"

She closed her eyes. "No," she admitted, "no, you're right, it is different, but -- He _promised_ me." She looked up at him, daring him to contradict her. "He wouldn't break   
that promise."

He exhaled, his eyes growing soft, and she let go of her defiance, suddenly understanding: he missed Ben too, in his own way, was afraid to hope too much in case he was disappointed. "All the same," he said, "Ezri knew him for many years, as Curzon, as Jadzia -- apart from you and Jake, she's the one person on this station who knew him best. You should talk to her."

"Perhaps," said Kasidy, and then, because he seemed inclined to press her further, "All right, I will. I _promise_. Okay?"

He nodded and smiled, and she felt a knot in her chest ease up a little.

*

_I see so much that I never saw before._

_You saw it. You have always seen it. You did not see that you saw it._

_Is this because I was born human?_

_It is because of the physical body, the life that exists on the material plane. It changes and dies. It is linear._

_Then you don't change?_

_We do not change._

_You don't die?_

_We do not die. We are eternal. Outside the flow of time. As are you._

_Am I?_

_You are. Here, you are with us. One of us. _

_One of you. That's..._

_You are uncertain?_

_I don't know what to think. I've had visions before, I've felt time shattering in my hands like mercury, but this... this isn't just seeing the future and the present and the past all jumbled together. This is..._

_It is you. It is who you are. You exist here._

_Hmm. I've heard that before._

*

Ezri was quiet and melancholy when Kasidy finally worked up the nerve to talk to her. She wasn't sure she could stand a friendly conversation with Ezri about Ben any more than she could stand a formal counseling session, but for Ezri's sake she'd get over that.

"I miss him. Don't you miss him? I mean, of course you do, you and he were _married_, but I miss him too, I just -- he's been a part of my life for so long, and now he's -- "

"Gone," said Kasidy. "To be with the Prophets," she added, hating that it sounded like a euphemism.

"To be with the Prophets," Ezri repeated glumly. She turned her cup around and around in her hand. It looked like a raktajino.

"I miss him, too," said Kasidy. "But I know he's coming back. I just don't know when."

"Oh, _no_," said Ezri, rolling her eyes. "That's just typical. Typical Benjamin. Couldn't just say 'Sorry, Kasidy, I'm going to be gone for three years so I'll probably miss our child's first word but I'll definitely be there when she starts kindergarten'. No, he had to be all _mysteriously vague_ about it." She took a sip of her drink and winced. "Damn it!"

Kasidy felt her lips twitch. "Forget that you don't like raktajino?"

"No," said Ezri, and she looked so sad that Kasidy's anger at the things she was saying drained away. _Who am I angry at?_ she thought to herself. _Ezri? Ben? The Prophets?_ "I'm trying to train myself to like it," Ezri went on, "because he did, you know? And it would be something..."

She put her hand over Ezri's. "Hey, why don't we book some holosuite time and watch a baseball game? You could bring Julian, and I could see if Jake would like to come."

Ezri blinked. "I -- yeah, yeah, that'd be great. I, I mean -- if you'd like that."

"I'd love it," said Kasidy, and though it brought a tear to her eye, she pumped her fist a little. "Go Niners!"

Ezri echoed the gesture and smiled unsteadily. "Go Niners!" she said.

*

_You warned me of "great sorrow"._

_Yes._

_Was it mine, or someone else's?_

_Both._

_Kasidy?_

_Yes. And your son. And your friends._

_Can I watch over them?_

_It will not lessen their sorrow._

_They won't know?_

_They do not know._

_But I'll know._

_It will not lessen your sorrow, either._

_I still want to do it. I want to see them._

_If that is what you wish, so be it._

*

Kasidy leaned back against the railing, staring out the porthole at the place where the wormhole was. It would open soon; there was a freighter due in from the Gamma Quadrant soon, bringing back goods from the Dominion. It still gave her a slight chill to think of trading with the Dominion, even now that the war was over.

Jake came up and leaned against the railing beside her. "Waiting for the wormhole to open?" he said.

Kasidy nodded. "It's so beautiful, like a flower blossoming. It never gets old, does it?"

Jake shook his head, smiling. "Never."

They stood side by side, watching the people come and go in a companionable silence. The wormhole opened after a few minutes, and Kasidy felt a shudder of anticipation pass through her; then it closed, and nothing had changed, and she let her eyes slide shut for a moment longer than a blink.

"Are you okay?"

She opened her eyes. "I'm fine, Jake, I just -- " She stared out the porthole at the field of stars, blank and undistinguished and empty.

"I miss him too," he said, and there was no answer to that, so she offered none, only reaching for his hand and squeezing it gently. "Sometimes," he went on, "I think I can see him -- just out of the corner of my eye, you know? Or it's like -- like I can feel him watching me. Yesterday I tried to make jambalaya, and I thought I could hear him telling me not to use so much garlic."

"Was it good jambalaya?"

"Best I've ever made."

"Then you know it was really Ben."

Jake laughed, then pressed her hand. "Do you think -- I mean, who knows how the Prophets work? They were -- I had a Pah Wraith inside me once -- "

"I remember."

"He _could_ be watching us. Guiding us. Like the Prophets guide the Bajorans."

Kasidy pulled her hand away and crossed her arms under her breasts. "I suppose he could."

"You don't sound like that makes you happy."

She sighed and shook her head. "I want him _back_, Jake. I don't him watching over me. I want him _here_. With us. With me." She patted her belly, round and full now, the baby kicking like it could sense her distress -- and maybe it could: Julian had warned her that stress hormones would be bad for both of them during the pregnancy. "I want him to be there when this little one comes out. I want him to hold my hand."

"He will."

"He'd better." She sighed and put a hand on his shoulder. "I swear, Jake, I have never loved anyone like I love your father. I feel as if -- as if somebody's cut my right hand off. But he's coming back. I just have to..."

"Keep the home fires burning?" Jake suggested.

"Something like that," said Kasidy, staring out of the porthole.

*

_I've had enough._

_Enough? Infinity is yours._

_Yes, it is, but I don't want it. It... costs too much._

_You need give up nothing._

_I am linear. I was linear. I will be linear. I've had to give that up, and it's not worth it._

_You are linear. You give up nothing. All that is and was and will be exists here. It exists in you._

_Kasidy's lonely. Jake misses me. And I miss them, too. They're not with me._

_...We do not understand._

_Then try. You have to try! Because I'm not so sure that I'm supposed to be here for me. Or -- not only for me. I think I'm here for **you**, too. To teach you what you need to know about us linear beings._

_There is much we know._

_There's also much you don't know. You said you were of Bajor, that I was of Bajor. The people of Bajor -- they love you. They need you. And you can't care for them properly, you can't protect them the way they need you to protect them, unless you understand them. _

_That is true. Then you will teach us?_

_I'll teach you. I'll teach you, and then I'll go._

_You will go back._

_Back. Yes. You're learning already._

*

The new Kai came to visit the station as soon as he was invested. Kasidy wanted to plead illness and stay in her quarters until he was gone, but Kira persuaded her to show her face for a few minutes.

"You won't get out of having your ear grabbed just because you tell him you're sick," she'd said. "You're the Emissary's wife -- the mother of his child. He'll be _more_ eager to see you if he thinks you're not well."

The last thing Kasidy wanted was some Bajoran priest she'd never even met fussing over her, so she caved and wore her best outfit (though none of her clothes were quite as nice as the ones she'd bought at Garak's shop), and pasted on a smile and let her mind wander during the welcome ceremony, and the blessing the Kai insisted on performing over her protruding stomach. Afterwards, she ate hasparat and politely listened to the advice of the assembled Bajoran acolytes, and told them (for what felt like the fifteenth time) that human women didn't need to take makara herbs when they were pregnant, no, not even fresh ones, and that she wasn't sneezing because human pregnancies didn't work like that, and yes, everything was fine, everything was absolutely fine.

"When the Emissary returns," they said, never _if_, and that, at least, was something. Not that her faith had wavered, but to know she was not alone in that faith was a comfort, even if the one they waited for was the Emissary of the Prophets and not Ben, her Ben, her one and only.

Kira met her in the corridor on the way to her quarters when the meeting had dispersed. "I'm sorry about that," she said. "They mean well."

"I know," said Kasidy wearily. "It's not a problem."

"I guess everything will be easier when he comes back," said Kira after an awkward pause. "It's what we're all waiting for."

"You think he's coming back?" said Kasidy, leaning one hand against the bulkhead; her lower back was aching, and Julian refused to give her painkillers, said they were bad for the baby.

"Of course he is," said Kira, sounding surprised. "He's the Emissary. He has to come back. The Prophets wouldn't -- "

"What if the Emissary comes back," Kasidy said, feeling as if she were vomiting up a poison she had swallowed months before, "and Ben doesn't?"

"I don't know what you -- "

"What if Odo came back," said Kasidy, ploughing on, knowing she was aiming straight at Kira's sorest parts and not really caring, "and he wasn't really Odo any more? What if he'd changed somehow -- spent too much time in the Great Link -- become more like the other Founders?"

Kira's face hardened. "I never expected him to come back," she said.

"But what if he did, only -- only it wasn't really him?"

Kira closed her eyes, frowning; then she opened them, and her face cleared. "Kasidy," she said, "the Prophets aren't like that. There are a whole heap of prophecies surrounding the Emissary, and all of them make it clear -- he's _mortal_. That's what makes him the Emissary. I mean... being with them is bound to change him, the same way being in the Resistance changed me, but... he'll still be Ben Sisko. The same person we know and love."

Kasidy exhaled, and she felt as if the breath she was letting out was one she'd been holding for a long time. "You're sure?"

Kira put her hands on Kasidy's shoulders. "As sure as I am of anything in the universe, I am sure of this: the Emissary will return, and he will be the same man we knew."

Kasidy blinked, fighting tears. "Thank you," she whispered, and Kira nodded gravely.

*

_Now._

_Now is the only time there is._

_Yes. But now. Here. This point in space and time. I see a twist in the pattern. This is where/when I must return._

_For the sake of your loved ones?_

_For their sake, and the sake of Bajor. They need their Emissary._

_And your wife will need her husband. And your child will need her father._

_Yes. _

_I will miss you._

_You're missing me already._

_This, too, is part of the great sorrow. _

_I'm sorry. If things had been different -- _

_Things are as they must be. There has been joy in the sorrow, and sorrow in the joy. Such is time. Such is life._

_Even for an immortal?_

_Even for the eternal._

_I won't forget you._

_This is not the end. We will meet again._

_But not like this._

_No. It will be as it was: for you, confusion; for us, frustration. We will try, and we will do better, for you have taught us much. But this oneness will never more be ours._

_I'll miss it._

_But you have missed your linear life more._

_Much more. I'm sorry._

_Do not be sorry. You have brought us great joy. You have saved us. You have made us better. It is worth the cost._

_Thank you. Thank you for everything. For all you have taught me. All you have given me. _

_We will meet again._

_Yes. Goodbye._

_Goodbye._

*

It took a few seconds for the pain relief to kick in, making the squeezing and pushing and straining that was happening below her waist recede like stars streaking past a ship's portholes when it went to warp. She felt like weeping with relief, and then with something else, for she had hoped -- she had thought that this might be it, might be what Ben was waiting for, and now that she wasn't incoherent with pain, she could feel the lead weight of her disappointment.

"Not long now," said Julian, and Ezri clutched her hand.

Kasidy let her head fall back, her eyes slide shut. She was so tired. "I think I understand now why they call it 'labour'," she panted.

"One last push -- " said Julian, and Kasidy gritted her teeth and _pushed_, and there was a tiny gasp and a sharp cry, and Ezri saying "oh!" like she'd just witnessed a miracle.

"It's a girl," said Julian in a hushed voice, and he laid the child on her breast carefully, and Kasidy wrapped her arms around her, still too tired to open her eyes.

"Let me see," said a voice from behind her.

Kasidy opened her eyes and twisted a little -- and there he was, in his uniform, just as if he'd never left. She opened her mouth to speak, but all the tears she hadn't let herself cry these past months were crowding in her throat and stopping the words from coming out.

"I missed you," Ben said softly, and Kasidy reached out to touch him, to stroke his cheek with her hand; he was real, solid and warm and alive and _here_.

"Oh," she said, because it was all she could say; and she glanced down at the child in her arms, who had her chin and Ben's eyes.

Ben touched the baby's cheek, her chin, the crown of her head, his eyes gentle and full of wonder, and when he looked back at Kasidy it was as if ther months apart had never happened. _Maybe a year,_ he'd said. _Maybe yesterday._

Maybe both, she thought. Maybe neither, and she took his hand in hers.

"Sarah," she said, "her name is Sarah," and Ben's smile was brighter than a sunrise.

[end]


End file.
